He loved her still
she had to go.
For if she stayed
he’d never know.
Though deep down still
like sinking stones
there lie the words
lost long ago.
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savior
though your spirit
may change
and your smile
may waver
I knew you long before
and
you are your own savior
Seasons Change
I found you in the dead of winter
We grew as one in the light of spring
Our passion climbed in the heat of summer
And we fell like lovers on autumns leaves
a loneliness grave.
I spared him a quarter
alone where he stood
next to the Madonna
as if she’d do him good.
He gave me a blessing
gentle and aware
the wind it was violent
messing both our hair.
While Girl Scouts are selling
cookies for the troop
a week ago maybe
someone died on that stoop.
But don’t tell their mothers
as if they would care
no you don’t get the badge unless
you’ve sold your soul there.
My eyes they grow weary
still I can’t look away
at the hummingbird dancing
a loneliness grave,
still I’ve got this feeling
that there’s no escape
am I ok to drive? I guess or else just look away.
Am I ok to drive? I guess, if not well either way.
At the cafe I buy coffee
either iced or cold brew
the barista he tells me
nothing’s ever new.
But still I ask questions
like how do you do
and she recalls my name
it’s the least she could do.
I don’t mean to sound faithless
I’ve just seen enough kicks
see the old man he died, well
some things never make sense.
It’s slight of the hand, it’s
a scam with three cups
you follow the ball then
it’s gone where it was.
My eyes they burn red with
the heat of the day
it’s winter in Burbank
what more can I say,
still I’ve got this feeling
that there’s no escape
am I ok to drive? I guess or else just look away.
Am I ok to drive? I guess, if not well either way.
Now I take to the bar, where
Happy Hour’s till 6
Scott the tender he knows me
pours my whiskey then gin.
What’s the good word? Pal, tell me
do you think that you could
spare me knowledge like change would
do me some type of good.
I don’t stay past the hour
happiness never lasts
after shame there comes flowers
then of course there’s the past.
You’re a good guy he tells me
see the pain never lasts
I assure you it does, Scott
he just nods then he laughs.
See there’s beauty in living
it’s just hidden by stars
who illuminate sidewalks
like two subtle hearts,
still I’ve got this feeling
that there’s no escape
it’s an obvious cycle, one I’ll never break.(?)
Am I ok to drive? I guess or else just look away.
Am I ok to drive? I guess, if not well either way.
lightening strike.
When your eyes well with
the sorrow of yesterday
and it feels too dark to see,
tilt your brow upward
just half an inch
and look a little closer to see
that lightening strike
tomorrow.
Yet still I turn to the East in longing.
I was nothing more than excuses,
a great big ball of disappointment
which she tried desperately to employ.
At the bottom of it, I was fragile and weak.
In the pits of despair I looked to love,
but could not fully know love without
loving myself, which by terms of engagement
were cut like beautiful red ribbons from her hair.
Give me death, I’d beg.
Give me peace, I’d scream,
unaware that there was any difference between.
Still she’d try, day in and day out, pushing forward
like an endless train car of hopeful desire.
We’d even escape together too
with nothing but the wind to guide our path
and the rise and fall of the sun to persuade us forward.
Knee deep in the escape of journey we’d prevail,
until of course the final push where and when
like a wrecking ball of fate our souls would wither
in the crest of the sun upon the blind horizon.
Even now, I still turn my sights inward
reminded of her beauty and strength,
channeling it outward where I can walk
head turned high among the many shapeless eyes
who know nothing of my past, care nothing of my future
who’d rather see me not than to judge.
Yet still I turn to the East in longing.
And like all those many times before I know
even if we were to change(our minds) we couldn’t.
Though my count of crows is high
I know that one day it will be but one.
Until then I’ll keep this in my breast pocket
along with my sunglasses, where I reach for them sometimes
when my heart is heavy
where I can’t bear to look away
where I gaze into the distant clearing
and watch grasshopper spring
from golden stalk to golden stalk
blissful in the quiet light.
the birds
I don’t aim to fly higher than high.
I just aim
and well(that’s enough for me),
the rest is for the birds.
the slow melancholia of twilight
We can no longer create each other
in the likeness of ourselves. But
we still can love who we’ve dreamed
warm under covers,
in the slow melancholia of twilight.
Though separate, still a part
painting one another’s shadow —
an impression all our own.
untitled (XO)
Something in us changed
I’m not sure when, but
it happened in an instant
and lasted a lifetime.
I am an illusion
It took losing
everything,
to come to the conclusion
that I am an illusion
and we’ve always had
— from the beginning —
everything
to gain.
Words Of An Average White Male 